


For John

by Blob



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Gen, Homestuck - Freeform, M/M, Nicholas Cage - Freeform, One Shot, Puppets, Shipping, dave strider - Freeform, john egbert - Freeform, m/m - Freeform, movies - Freeform, sad stuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 13:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2775512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blob/pseuds/Blob
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Dave Strider and you are writing a predictable nearly uninteresting movie. Someone in your life you may have once known enjoyed these films at a time or another, someone who you have lost to reasons probably beyond your control. The person you are writing this for is John Egbert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For John

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first story, and I'm an amateur so for anyone reading this, please excuse any grammatical or spelling errors. Critiques and reviews are welcome. I tried my hardest to avoid cliche's or anything. This is based on a Tumblr post I found I don't know how long ago. I hope you enjoy!

You sit in front of a computer, typing words on a computer almost apathetically. You don’t know what’s going to happen next in the story. Every option you’ve come up with is extremely cheesy. You grab the apple box besides you, examining it before pressing the straw against your lips and taking a sip. Maybe it’ll help with the creative flow?

Your name is Dave Strider and you are writing a predictable nearly uninteresting movie. You’re certainly not pleasing yourself. That’s for sure. If you were looking to please yourself you would’ve written one of your cool raps. But that of course can wait for later. However, someone in your life you may have once known enjoyed these films at a time or another, someone who you have lost to reasons probably beyond your control. And that alone is reason to make these films. 

The person you are writing this for is John Egbert. You can somewhat remember the first time he forced you to sit down and watch a wretched Nicholas Cage movie. It was not pleasant. But remembering his presence is enough to make you content, even if it comes with something of a bittersweet aftertaste. Because you refuse to stoop to anything uncool, or in a more blunt statement, you refuse to show any vulnerability whatsoever, it stings to admit that you’ve forgotten what his laugh sounds like.

You can’t really remember what the movie was about, you just remember sitting beside him. You were probably making fun at him for enjoying anything like Nicholas Cage without the slightest irony. Speaking of which, you are very ironic. Or so you like to think. You believe John became somewhat irritated with you because of that. You used to believe that he looked up to you. But you’ve come to the crippling realization that you probably need him more than he needed you any day. There was something about him that you didn’t understand, something you admired. Maybe it was his ability to remain someone’s friend for so long. Well, whatever it was. It was somethin’

Gazing around your bedroom, because you’re alone, you decide it wouldn’t hurt to take your glasses off. John never saw you a lot without them off, on the few occasions that he did he nearly begged you to keep them off for a little longer. You seldom did. You decide you will write the rest of this without them off. 

You remember his reactions to your eyes, and his lips, and his the way he gleamed with joy which sometimes bounced off on to you, you almost remember what his laugh sounds like but you’re sure it’s a bit off. You just want to hear his voice one last time. 

You’re so distracted by thought you almost don’t notice the puppet at the corner of you room, eyeing you as if it were ready to murder. You always thought they were creepy as fuck, not that you ever admitted to it, of course. You got the impression that John, in fact all of your friends noticed your reluctance towards accepting them, but you never gave in. It was, you noticed, a bad habit of yours to put on a front too strong for you to handle. You regret the fact that you never got to tell John how you really felt about them. You also regret that you never got to tell John how much you appreciated him. Just to give yourself a reason to despise yourself anymore. You hate the fact that you cannot and probably will not admit to appreciating anyone in general. 

How has it taken me, you often muse, so fucking long to realize that my ego gets in front of everything? 

You're typing so fast that you're probably not really thinking what you're putting on the document and you know this is a fact because as you're re-reading you find the lines 'John, I miss you.' put incoherently on there.

You immediately erase that and continue typing. It’s too late to grieve, and so you ignore the prickle of irritation behind your eyes or the knife inside of your gut. It’s for John, right?


End file.
